


all i ever knew about falling in love

by SatelliteStars



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coupla goddamn kids, Fluff and Angst, Kisses Through The Ages, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, So much kissing, but the other avengers live there too?? idk, its a fic about kissing, just normal kids man, rated for kissing and swearing, sad kisses, set in brooklyn, they're teens not the avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatelliteStars/pseuds/SatelliteStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re six years old. </p><p> It’s short and sweet, and followed by Steve playfully shoving Bucky away and wiping his mouth with a half-hearted shout of “Ew, gross!”. It’s for experimental reasons, kissing for the sake of kissing, and nothing else. It’s practice.</p><p>----<br/>(title from 'falling in love' by teen suicide)</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i ever knew about falling in love

**Author's Note:**

> yo it's me i've been writing a ton of stucky shit so you're gonna get a lot of that over the next month or so be on the lookout for it if u want to read it!!! also if u like this do me a favor and leave a comment! I thrive on praise tyvm

They’re six years old. 

 

It’s short and sweet, and followed by Steve playfully shoving Bucky away and wiping his mouth with a half-hearted shout of  _ “Ew, gross!” _ . It’s for experimental reasons, kissing for the sake of kissing, and nothing else. It’s practice.

 

\----

 

They’re eight and nine years old. 

 

They’re playing pretend, something they’ve always liked to do even when the grown-ups told them they were too old for it, and Bucky suggests a new game. He wants to play house, the way he sees his sisters play with their dolls, because they seem to enjoy it enough. 

 

“How d’you play house?” Steve asks curiously. 

 

“Well one of us has gotta be the husband, and the other one’s gotta be the wife, and we just pretend like we’re living together, I think,” Bucky explains. “That’s what Becca and them do, anyway.” 

 

“I ain’t gonna be your wife, Buck!” Steve protests. 

 

“Who says you gotta?” Bucky asks. “I’ll be the wife. You can be my  _ big _ ,  _ strong  _ husband!” 

 

“Fine, but I ain’t kissin’ you.” Steve agrees warily. 

 

“Why? You chicken?” Bucky teases. “Too scared to kiss the girls at school, too scared to kiss your own wife? Jeez, Steve, maybe you’re not husband material after all.” 

 

Steve doesn’t let himself be taunted any longer, immediately grabs Bucky by his cheeks and pulls him in for a long kiss right on the lips. There’s no tongue, of course, or even any movement in their lips. There’s just Steve’s angry face squished right up against Bucky’s in this uncomfortable position that makes both their noses ache, and then it’s over. 

 

“Who’s chicken now,  _ James _ ?” Steve replies, rubbing his nose.

 

“Guess it’s not you.”

 

\----

 

They’re fourteen years old, attending their first real party. 

 

Someone thought it’d be a good idea to introduce a bunch of hormonal teenagers to alcohol, and so most of them were pretending they were drunk off their asses from one sip of Bud Light. Bucky and Steve weren’t pretending, too smart for that, but Bucky’d be lying if he said he’s not having fun watching all the other dumbshits just so. 

 

“Truth or dare, anyone?” Bucky hears someone yell, and then suddenly fifteen kids, including himself and Steve, are sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor of Natasha Romanova’s basement.  

 

“‘Kay, so who’s going first?” Natasha asks from the opposite side of the circle. Nobody volunteers. “Guess I am, then. Truth or dare… Clint?” 

 

“What a surprise.” Tony Stark comments sarcastically. 

 

“Shove it, Stark.” Someone outside the circle says in reply.

 

“Uh, truth.” Clint answers Nat. 

 

“Oh, my favorite! Is it true that you threw up on the track field last year on purpose so that you could get out of gym?” 

 

“C’mon, Tasha, you know that’s true.” Clint groans. 

 

“Yeah, I just like making you talk about it.” She teases.

 

“Fuck you. Okay, let’s see… Truth or dare… Bruce!” 

 

Bucky tunes out for a while, focuses instead on finishing his beer without letting his face show how terrible he thinks it is, and after a few rounds his name finally gets called. 

 

“Dare.” Bucky answers on instinct, only halfway registering that it’s Sam Wilson asking the question. 

 

“You sure? Okay then.” Sam says mischievously. “I dare you to turn to your boy Steve over there and give him a little sugar. Sound like something you could handle?

 

“C’mon, Sam, don’t bring Steve into  _ my  _ dare, it’s not fair.”

 

“Don’t be a pussy, Barnes!” Tony shouts. ( _ “Shut up, Tony!” Replies the outer-circle voice again. _ ) 

 

“It’s okay, Buck. It’s just a kiss.” Steve interjects. 

 

“Okay, well. I guess I’ll just.” Bucky is hesitant as he goes in for a quick peck on Steve’s lips, his eyes still open. 

 

“You kidding me? That was nothing. Put a little back into it, at least!” Natasha calls. 

 

“No, you guys, come on. I did the dare.” 

 

“Like hell you did. Always knew you were a ‘fraidy-cat, Barnes.” Sam taunts him.

 

Apparently, Steve’s had enough, because he takes hold of Bucky’s neck and swiftly pulls him in for another kiss. He’s kissing with devotion, even going so far as to slip a little tongue along the outside of Bucky’s bottom lip for show, and Bucky’s just giving him shock in return. His hands feel awkward and out of place so he just rests them in the criss-crossed pattern that his legs have formed and lets it happen. 

 

It goes on for too long but is somehow still over too soon, and Bucky feels lightheaded when Steve pulls away.  

 

There’s a cough from within the circle, and Bucky is, for once, thankful for Tony’s inability to let silent moments be silent. 

 

“Anyway,” Bucky says, facing back into the circle and trying to sound casual despite the very real threat of his voice giving out, “Truth or dare, Stark?”

 

____

 

They’re sixteen and seventeen, and Steve hasn’t cried. 

 

Crying’s the natural reaction to your mother dying, Bucky thinks, but Steve hasn’t ever really done things the ‘normal’ way. He’s sad, Bucky can feel it radiating off him, can feel it in the silence and distance between the two, and all Bucky wants to do is help.

 

But even when he’s grieving, Steve is still a stubborn punk who has this magical ability to mistake human compassion for charity, and he won’t accept any of Bucky’s. 

 

“Steve, pal, come on. Just for a few days.” Bucky pleads desperately on Steve’s doorstep. 

 

“I can take care of myself, Bucky.” Steve says bitterly.

 

“Not according to the US government, you can’t,” Bucky argues. “Besides, even if you could, you wouldn’t have to. Not when you have me and my mom around.” 

 

“Oh, so now that I don’t have a mother I suddenly need yours?” Steve bites back. 

 

“You know  _ damn well  _ that’s not what I was sayin’, Steve. Quit putting words in my mouth and  _ listen _ to me for once in your goddamn life.” Bucky says, fierce only because he knows it’s the only way to get Steve to listen to him. “We love you, okay? Like family, like a friend, like whatever you need. And when people love somebody, they help them out when they need help. You can’t… you don’t have to pretend like you’re okay, Steve. Nobody’s gonna think any less of you, I swear. And, Steve?” 

 

Steve looks up, meets Bucky’s eyes properly.

 

“I’m with you til the end of the line.” Bucky tells him and there’s so much honesty, so much sincerity in his voice that Steve can’t help but wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck and kiss him so hard he’s sure his lips will bruise. 

 

Bucky lets him do so, wraps strong arms around Steve’s back and hugs him so close he’s afraid he’ll break his ribs. Bucky doesn’t say anything when Steve starts to cry into it, doesn’t say anything when he has to pull back and tuck his head into Bucky’s shoulder and let his whole body heave with it, because he knows that this is what he needs.

 

“Come home with me.” Bucky whispers,  _ begs _ into Steve’s unwashed blond hair. 

 

Steve just nods. 

 

____

 

They’re seventeen and eighteen, and Bucky is drunk. 

 

He’s happy this way; with his head somehow clear and fuzzy at the same time, light and floating and not totally in control. It’s easier, Bucky thinks, to be like this than to be properly awake and in charge. Being in charge is far too difficult. 

 

“Stevie?” Bucky calls way too loudly for addressing someone who’s on his arm. 

 

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve sighs back. 

 

“I ever tell you how pretty you are?” Bucky coos, reaching a stumbling hand to stroke Steve’s cheek. 

 

“You’re drunk, Bucky.” Steve protests, lightly pushing Bucky’s hand away. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “But you’re still pretty. Prettiest boy I’ve ever fuckin’ seen, probably.” 

 

“You notice a lot of pretty boys or something?” Steve teases, trying to distract from the subject. 

 

“All the damn time,” Bucky answers honestly. “Even sober. Can’t help it sometimes, Steve, you’re just… everywhere.” 

 

“You need some sleep. I’m gonna get you a glass of water, okay?” Steve tries to set Bucky down lightly on the couch, but his drunken state has rendered him heavier than usual and he takes Steve down with him. 

 

Bucky laughs, obviously not caring if they wake up his family, and says, “God, you’re so little.” 

 

“Drunk you is a dick.” Steve comments harshly, pushing himself off of Bucky and heading for the kitchen. 

 

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Bucky slurs. “Think it’s cute.” 

 

“Yeah, well, ‘cute’ isn’t exactly a good thing.” Steve says. 

 

“Fine, then! Think it’s  _ hot _ ,” Bucky’s shameless, now, and he’s not taking the glass of water that Steve’s holding out. “Think  _ you’re  _ hot. Think that it’d be pretty nice if you’d hold me down, trap me under that  _ hot  _ little body.That any better for ya?”

 

“I’m never letting you drink again, ever. You’re gonna regret all this in the morning.” Steve counters, but he’s blushing, and Bucky imagines it going all the way down his chest. 

 

“Maybe, yeah. But it’s makin’ you so red, I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop.” Bucky smiles.

 

“Bedtime, Buck. I think you’ve had enough fun tonight.” Steve pulls on Bucky’s arm, and, surprisingly, Bucky stands with him. 

 

“Nah,” Bucky says coolly. “I don’ think I have.” 

 

They’re quiet for a while; Steve frozen with excitement and shock, Bucky silent with inebriated calculations. 

 

“Tell me to stop, I’ll do it.” Bucky whispers, and then his hand is on Steve’s cheek again, and he’s closing in. Steve doesn’t tell him to stop like he expects himself to, but closes his eyes and waits. 

 

Their lips are touching, and that’s it. There’s no sloppy, unwanted tongue in one another’s mouths, there’s just  _ touching _ , and somehow it’s enough. 

 

Bucky is the one who pulls away, and it’s only then that Steve notices how tightly he had begun to hold onto Bucky’s hip. “G’night, Steve.” 

 

____

 

They’re eighteen and it’s Steve’s birthday. 

 

When they were younger, Bucky convinced Steve that the fireworks that went off every year on the fourth of July were for him, that it was Brooklyn’s way of thanking him for all that he does for other people. Steve, of course, eventually found out that it wasn’t true, that the fireworks were actually for America and not for him, but he didn’t really care. How many other people get to see the sky lit up every single year on the day they were born?

 

“Steve, c’mon, it’s time for your pie!” Bucky’s mother says, ushering Steve inside. 

 

When they were about thirteen, Steve’s mom started making Steve an apple pie for his birthday instead of a cake (the first of many fourth-of-July-birthday traditions). Since Sarah Rogers died, Bucky’s mother has been taking on the duties of pie-baking in her honor. It’s one of the little things she does that means a lot to him.

 

“Sorry, I’m coming in.” Steve apologizes, running a hand through his probably-messy hair and making his way through the screen door. 

 

Bucky sees him and immediately walks over to throw an arm around his small shoulders. “Steve! I’m starving, and I  _ need  _ you to cut this pie, like,  _ now _ .”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m cuttin’ it! Nat, Sam, thanks for coming. Tony, you’re… here.”  Steve grabs a knife from the cutting block on Mrs. Barnes’ kitchen counter. 

 

“Everybody gather ‘round, Steve’s gonna cut the pie!” Natasha yells to the small group of people who aren’t yet at the table. “Go ahead, Steve.” 

 

“Okay, well first I’d like to thank everyone for being at my eighteenth instead of at some other fourth of July party; it means a lot to me. Thanks to Mrs. Barnes for finding my Ma’s recipe and making this delicious looking apple-” 

 

“Oh, Steven, get on with it!” Mrs. Barnes interrupts then, causing the small crowd to share laughter. 

“Okay, okay. Let there be pie, I guess.” Steve sinks the knife into the warm candied crust as the people around him cheer him on.  

 

“Happy birthday, pal.” Bucky whispers into his ear, close and quiet enough that nobody else hears him in the rest of the noise. “Okay, let’s hear it for Captain America!” He yells. “One, two, three!” 

 

_ “ _ _ I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy _

_ A Yankee Doodle, do or die _

_ A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam _

_ Born on the Fourth of July _

 

_ I've got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart _

_ She's my Yankee Doodle joy _

_ Yankee Doodle came to London _

_ Just to ride the ponies _

_ I am the Yankee Doodle Boy!” _

 

His friends sing at the top of their lungs, laughing and tripping over the lyrics. It’s a tradition that Bucky started when they were kids, to sing this song instead of  _ Happy Birthday _ to Steve every year, that their friends thought was hilarious when they found out. 

 

“I love you guys, you know that, right?” Steve tells them, continuing to cut more slices of the pie. 

 

Mrs. Barnes puts the vanilla ice cream on the table. “Okay, kids, you guys need to eat pretty quickly so your ice cream doesn’t melt.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve tells her in reply, already starting to shovel pie and ice cream onto his paper plate. 

 

The food is finished pretty quickly between the ten hungry teenagers, as was expected. While they eat, they talk about the past year and how they all got to know Steve, and Bucky jokes about how he wishes he’d never met him (Steve knows this is a joke because he looks into Bucky’s eyes and he finds nothing but love in them). 

 

The first firework goes off with a loud  _ boom _ and if Steve pulled Bucky up any rougher than he does he’d rip his arm clean off. “Come on, we gotta get to the roof!” Steve urges, still pulling. 

 

Bucky stands up, because you can’t break tradition no matter how much you really want a second slice of your mother’s homemade pie. “Alright, alright, I’m comin’!” 

 

Steve is beaming, running out the door of the apartment and up the stairs to the roof far quicker than someone with lungs like his should. Bucky follows with just as much eagerness, and he nearly trips over his own feet when he hears a series of fireworks go off. 

 

Finally, they make it to the top, where the lawn chairs they hid up on the roof for this specific reason are waiting for them, colorful and propped on a rung on the fire escape. They quickly unfold them and set them where they always go: right in the center of the roof. 

 

A series of fireworks go off in rapid succession, and, even though they’re a bit strange looking due to his shitty eyesight, Steve is silently entranced by the colors. Bucky watches alongside him, and Steve pretends not to notice the secret glances he steals out of the corner of his eye.  

 

“Steve?” Bucky mumbles. 

 

“Hm?” Replies Steve. 

 

“I got you somethin’,” Bucky sounds shy now, unsure, “Didn’t want you to open it back with the others.” 

 

“What is it?” Steve asks curiously, forcing his eyes away from the lights and towards Bucky. 

 

“It’s not much, but… here.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a book, places it gingerly into Steve’s waiting hand. 

 

“Is this…?” Steve trails off, staring at the yellowing front cover of the worn paperback book.

 

“ _ Alice In Wonderland _ , yeah.” Bucky has gone back to looking at the fireworks to hide the blush on his face. 

 

“It’s… It’s just like Ma used to read me. Bucky, how did you-” 

 

“It  _ is  _ what your ma used to read you. Look at the inside cover.” Bucky corrects, turning the cover for Steve. 

 

Sure as shit, there it was, written in neat cursive letters:  _ Property of Sarah Rogers. _

 

Steve feels tears start to well in his eyes. “Buck, how in God’s name did you  _ find  _ this?” 

 

“You donated everything, back when your mom died. I kept this, though, under my mattress. I knew you weren’t ready to be reminded of her back then, so I waited. Figured now is as good a time as any.” Bucky shrugs and faces Steve again, shoves his hands into too-warm pockets for the sake of having somewhere to put them. 

 

“Thank you, Bucky, so much. This… this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” Steve blinks, lets a tear fall out, but he’s smiling. “ _ Thank you _ .” And then he’s pulling Bucky in for a tight hug. 

 

“I love you,” Bucky whispers, because it feels right, but he thinks better of it and adds, “pal.” 

 

“I love you, too. So fucking much, you’ve got no idea, man. Thank you.” Steve repeats. 

 

Then they pull away, but they’re still holding each other; Bucky’s got his hands resting comfortably on the curve of Steve’s lower back, and Steve’s got his around Bucky’s neck, and there’s still fireworks going off in the distance. 

 

“Can I-” Bucky starts to ask, but he doesn’t have time to finish before Steve’s mouth is on his. 

 

Bucky’s hands tighten instinctively around Steve’s waist, and he bends down a little so that Steve doesn’t have to stand on his toes while they kiss. Steve has gotten better with the limited amount of experience he’s had, Bucky notes, and he moves their lips together with minimal stumbling. Bucky is smiling into the kiss just the slightest bit, messing up the choreography of their mouths, but Steve doesn’t seem to care; he just holds on to Bucky’s neck like he’s afraid Bucky will fly away if he dares to let go. 

 

They pull away reluctantly, and Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s while they both try and catch their breath. He’s still smiling. 

 

“We have to talk about this.” Steve mutters, still close enough that Bucky can feel the hotness of his breath against his own lips. 

 

“Later,” Bucky promises. “It’s your birthday. Just let yourself have this,  _ please _ .” 

 

“Later,” Steve agrees, and then he’s tilting his head back up for another kiss.

 

Bucky gives him what he wants, of course, because he always does, and Steve sighs into his mouth with pure happiness. They’re moving lazy and slow and Steve’s cheek is still wet with tears and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way. He moves his left hand from Steve’s waist up to cup his cheek and pulls him in impossibly closer, feels himself becoming desperate and needy.

 

“I love you,” Bucky says again, but it feels different this time; like a secret, like a confession. “I love you.” He repeats. 

 

Steve leans back as much as he can in Bucky’s strong grip. “Buck…” He warns. 

 

“Not askin’ for you to say it back,” He continues honestly, “Just want you to know.”

 

All Steve can bring himself to do is nod. 

 

____

 

They’re eighteen and nineteen and it’s been three weeks since they’ve talked. 

 

Uncoincidentally, it has also been three weeks since that night on the roof. 

 

Technically it  _ hasn’t  _ been three weeks since they last talked, it’s been about four hours (ignoring each other completely would be nearly impossible since they live in the same apartment), but it’s been twenty-one whole days since they’ve said anything important to each other, and it’s not for lack of trying on Steve’s part. 

 

He tries his hardest to muster up the courage to walk into Bucky’s room and say  _ Hey, pal, we need to talk about that whole love confession makeout-session we had on the roof the other week _ , but it’s a lot harder than Steve imagined it would be. Plus, every time he actually  _ does  _ have the guts to do it, Bucky changes the subject with impeccable ease. 

 

( _ “Hey, Bucky, can we talk?”  _

_ “Sure, pal, but first we should go see that new Jurassic World thing, looks really good, don’cha think?”)  _

 

That’s not going to happen today, Steve has decided. Today, he is going to walk into Bucky’s room and  _ force  _ him to talk about this mess.  

 

He knocks on Bucky’s door once, twice, three times for good measure, and then he waits. Immediately, he hears a muffled  _ ‘shit’ _ and what sounds like the rustle of bed sheets. Bucky opens his door, fly undone and shirt rumpled. His lips are red and chapped, like he’s been biting them, and Steve realizes all too late that this is definitely not a good time. 

 

“I’m sorry, we can do this later, oh my God.” Steve is properly blushing now, because who the fuck wouldn’t be at a sight like this, and he’s ready to turn away when Bucky grabs his wrist. 

 

“I wasn’t- I haven’t really done anything yet,” Steve notices his use of the word  _ haven’t  _ and prays to the good Lord up above that he isn’t about to make an offer that Steve can’t refuse, but he’s saved when Bucky continues, “But I’m tired of tiptoeing around this…  _ thing _ . So, I guess we should just…” 

 

“Talk about it, yeah.” Steve finishes. 

 

Bucky opens the door a little wider and uses the small frame of time he has while Steve is walking into his room to finish zipping up his fly. Steve sees that Bucky’s blanket is covering his laptop on the floor and he figures that it’s best if he doesn’t lift it up to take a peek. 

 

“So,” Bucky starts. 

 

“So,” Steve repeats. 

 

They’re quiet again, sitting as far apart on Bucky’s full-sized mattress as they can. 

“About the kiss,” Bucky says, at the same time as Steve says, “So when you said that thing,” 

 

“Sorry, go ahead.” Bucky invites, shutting himself up.

 

“No, no, you go.” Steve replies. 

 

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, “Uh, so. On the roof. You, um, you kissed me.” He states.

 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry if that wasn’t okay, you know? I was just- I was really happy, you know, about the whole book thing. You were just there, and I just-” 

 

“You kissed me because I was just  _ there _ ?” Bucky interrupts. He sounds defensive. “So if it had been Sam or Natasha giving you that goddamned book you would’ve kissed them, too?” 

 

“I didn’t- I didn’t say that, Buck.” Steve counters. 

 

“No, you didn’t,” Bucky stands up, “But that’s sure as hell what it sounded like.” 

 

“Are you actually mad at me right now?” Steve asks, standing as well. “You’re the one who said you were in  _ love with me _ , you asshole! How the fuck am I supposed to feel about that?” 

 

“I wasn’t talking out of my ass, Steve!” Bucky yells, pushing a strong finger against Steve’s collarbone. “I told you up on that goddamned roof that I didn’t need you to say it back, and I fucking meant that! That doesn’t mean that I’m okay with you standing here and telling me that you kissed me because- what, you were happy? Because you wanted to celebrate some  _ book _ ? Well fuck that, Steve!”

 

“I-,” Steve starts, but he can’t find it in him to finish. He lets the finger against his chest push him down onto the bed. 

 

He waits for Bucky to keep yelling at him, to hit him, to do  _ anything _ , but none of that happens. Instead, Bucky sits down next to him and lets his head drop onto Steve’s shoulder. 

 

“What the hell are we doing, Stevie?” Bucky asks. Steve thinks it’s supposed to be rhetoric, but that doesn’t stop his mind from trying to supply an answer. 

 

“No idea,” He answers honestly. 

 

“I love you,” Bucky says after a while, and Steve can feel himself tense under Bucky’s head. “Calm down, pal, and listen to me. I love you in every way I can, I think. As a friend, as family, as more than that. But whatever you wanna give me - whatever kind of love you think I deserve from you - I’ll take that, and I won’t say shit about it. I’ll do my best to forget any of this even happened, if that’s what you really want from me.” 

 

It’s then that Steve realizes that  _ isn’t  _ what he wants. He wants Bucky, in all those ways and maybe even more, he fucking  _ loves  _ him. He says so. “I fucking love you.”

 

“What?” Bucky asks, but he’s mostly asking himself. “Oh. Steve, I get that you wanna like, lighten the mood, or whatever, but this isn’t funny. At all.” 

 

“I’m not joking, actually. I just- I think I just had some kind of epiphany, just now.” Steve explains. 

 

“Oh,” Bucky says. “ _ Oh _ .” He repeats. 

 

“Can I, um, can I kiss you?” Steve asks nervously, shifting himself so that he’s facing Bucky instead of being used as his bony pillow.

 

Bucky nods quickly, instinctively, and then they’re struggling to get into a good position (they end up with Bucky half on top of Steve, Steve’s hand cupping Bucky’s jaw) and after that they’re kissing. It’s quick and hungry, the way a dehydrated person would drink from a river in the desert, and it’s  _ perfect _ . 

  
It’s not the first time they’ve done this - far from it, actually - but it’s the first time where it really matters.


End file.
